She wasn’t thinking of him lying in his plastic, hospital cot, sucking on his fists. From the window the rooftops had glittered in the January frost; New Year, New Millennium, New Baby.
She thought of none of his milestones: the baby curls, the pearl-sized teeth, his first steps, first bike, the look on his face when he tried on his first football boots.
When they cut him from the mangled car, she could only remember the way he’d pleaded with her not to peel away a sticker, the way his tears had splashed onto his chubby hands as he’d tried to prise open her fingers, to release his shiny star.
Josephine Corcoran, who currently lives in Trowbridge, West Wiltshire, returned to writing in 2010 after a ten year gap spent raising two fantastic children. Her work is published, broadcast (on BBC R4) and performed. Read more about her on http://josephinecorcoran.wordpress.com or follow her on Twitter @CorkyCorks